


Depression Anonymous: Diary of a Romantic

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Bad Poetry, Depression, Diary/Journal, I regret this, I wouldn't read, I'm Bad At Tagging, Poetry, Probably bad, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love, pathetic, thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I've had depression for two years, here you'll find some of the extracts from my old diary.





	Depression Anonymous: Diary of a Romantic

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader,  
> So I was going through my old stuff and I found a diary I used to write in. I showed it to my friend and she said she found it very intriguing and it could possibly help other people if they find it and can relate to it so I thought that I may as well share, though I'm probably not going to get a good feedback/response to this, I'll probably just take it down because it's not very good.

**New Year**

 

It’s new year, 12:01.

 

12:02.

 

Happy New Year.

 

I’m alone in my bedroom, making no noise and willing myself to stop existing.

I didn’t get invited to any parties, and my family aren’t doing anything particularly celebratory.

I’m lonely.

And this is how I will enter my new year.

 

Another year brings more tears, more fears and hopefully, new people.

Everyone is the same; unfamiliar but as they always are.

 

Will people say hello to me this year?

Will they give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek? Or will they continue to watch me ghost the pathways of life, in pain and unnecessary, an extra puzzle piece of life that rests beside the picture.

 

I miss her tonight, she is on my mind.

And I hope for the sake of my sanity that when this writing is next found, I will have moved on, and I will be happy.

 If I remember her face, her smell, her voice and her smile, then I guess that would mean the new year didn’t present me with its merciful token, and my pleads would have fallen on unlistening ears.

 

I don’t believe in God. But as I stare into the night sky, I silently pray for love and treasure to come find me quickly, for I am waiting with open ears and an open body.

All I have left anymore is time. Time and death.

 

And I welcome both.

 

I can’t bring myself to play music, paint or draw. So here I am. Writing like never before, like it’s something that’s always been a part of me, something I’m meant to be doing.

 

I don’t even know anymore, okay.

 

My struggles are underestimated and undervalued, just like I’ve always been, it’s time I stand forward and take what I want for myself, but that takes big arms and a big heart.

 

I have neither.

 

What I need is a freshness inside of me, inside my clouded brain.

I’m alone with nobody by my side, and nothing has or ever will change.

Happy New Year.

  


**Life Is A String**

 

Life is a string.

 

It can be any length, any shape.

 

The condition of it can represent our souls,

Our inner Us, our daily roles.

I can cut my string, and it can get cut.

 

More importantly, I can cut my string.

 

I can cut my string.

  


**Yellow Flower**

 

Yellower than me

Yellower than my eye

Arms are a trap

Love is a lie

 

Don’t fall inside

Don’t be fooled by big brown eyes

 

Don’t let thoughts wander

There is no pot of gold beyond her

Stolen boat, stolen lamb

I sailed through thick and thin to feel an embrace

But simply, it was a race

 

And I lost.

 

**Sheep**

 

I don’t want to be a sheep. They say humans are unique, when we simply follow each other all day. We wear the same things, watch the same things, and we shun anybody who is an anomaly, who does not fit the pattern. Humans are sheep, and a sheep carries the same wool as the other sheep, goes to the same places that the other sheep go to. They follow a shepherd, and they blend in, with no distinguishing features to be told apart.

 

I don’t want to be a sheep, i want to be a shepherd. And I want to paint my sheep all different colours.

I’ll find myself soon.

  


**Gifted**

 

T’would be a wonderful thing, to be gifted.

To be special above the rest.

 

To be more than simply average or even below that.

Simply a girl.

  


**Tired**

 

I’m tired.

Of feeling ugly.

 

Why can’t I be funny? Or pretty?

 

It sounds so juvenile, so pathetic. But my wishes chime truths like bells, loud and obvious.

 

I’m tired of being a tree, rooted here and stuck out in the rain while everybody else is inside and sheltered. I’m stuck to this place, and nobody acknowledges my origins and my roots.

I’m tired and cold and I can’t leave.

 

**Alcohol**

 

What is the alcohol that is love?

Toxic and sweet, leaving my eyes unseeing and lights out.

 

I’ve been waiting for years. It’s been years and an embrace has yet still denied me its warmth.

Damn you and I both to hell.

 

You are truth and all I despise.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader,  
> So I was going through my old stuff and I found a diary I used to write in. I showed it to my friend and she said she found it very intriguing and it could possibly help other people if they find it and can relate to it so I thought that I may as well share, though I'm probably not going to get a good feedback/response to this, I'll probably just take it down because it's not very good.


End file.
